Observations of a Fox
by HarperLeap
Summary: Synopsis: Stiles wakes up in a cold, pitch black room and doesn't know where he is or how he got there; but slowly, things begin to come back to him, and nothing is what he expects to find. Cautions: Themes of abduction, domestic violence, abuse and murder and mental health issues. x-over with The OA.
1. Chapter 1: The Toolbox

**Synopsis:** Stiles wakes up in a cold, pitch black room and doesn't know where he is or how he got there; but slowly, things begin to come back to him, and nothing is what he expects to find.

**Cautions:** _Themes of abduction, domestic violence, abuse and murder and mental health issues. But here we go..._

**Chapter 1: The Toolbox**

Stiles takes a deep breath. He inhales, with a thirsty, painfully dry throat and he can taste the dust In the air. A dull ache stings his head and he runs a hand over a throbbing lump on the back of it.

He tries to think of where he could be, but knows only that there is a chilliness in the surrounding darkness and that muffled bird calls suggest the on-coming of dusk.

Stiles grasps at flashes of something - the morning sun on his face, kneeling to tie his shoe lace, a mother deer staring at him through trees, and his phone disappearing into tall grass...

_...Was he talking to Scott on it? His phone? Where is it?_

Stiles pats himself down; his hoodie and jeans, his shoes are missing. Nothing. There's nothing, but just the usual lump in his jeans pocket where his keys still are. The indents of loose change. Stiles kneels, feeling around on a dusty, cold, concrete floor, his hands hovering over clumps of soft wood, smalls stones and dry leaves. He crawls slowly, reaching out to touch a wall here or there - and five, maybe six metres ahead of him and three seconds later, there it is - Smooth bricks between ridges of grainy cement.

He follows along the wall, leaning against it for support.

"Come on, come on, come on..." He whispers to himself, careful not to make too much noise.

Finally, the wall dips as Stiles finds a doorframe.

"Yes!"

He fumbles at the handle, round, metallic, he twists, trying to turn it, pushing the door gently. Not that he's surprised, but the handle is stiff and unturnable.

He leans his ear against the surface of the door and listens intently.

Nothing. Nothing yet. He waits. Inhales deeply, tries to steady his breathing; listening more carefully.

He hears something faint. What is that? A dog panting maybe?

Stiles whistles.

"Here boy... or girl..." He smacks his lips together; _tutt, tutt, tutt_... "Come here buddy..."

It's silent for a long moment, and then, slowly, and finally, the sound of paws dragging across wooden panels grows closer accompanied by the closeness of heavy panting. As his eyes begin to adjust to the darkness Stiles notices the faintest of light from beneath the door as a shadow appears from behind it.

He notices he can now see very faintly the cracks between the bricks in the walls. The sun must be rising. Wherever he is, he is alone, with just this dog for company.

So, there are no windows. He turns around, scanning for another way out. He walks to the other side of the room, stumbles over some of the tiny scraps of wooden. But it's just brick and cement everywhere, except for a shelving unit to his right; where he feels and mentally notes what is likely to be a toolbox, and then moves on.

Suddenly, the fear and anxiety weaken his legs. He leans on the wall, but he can feel himself kneeling to the ground. Then his head is in his hands, and he tries desperately to focus on finding a way out, to think straight. And then, he is aware of how cold he is and hungry - his belly gives out a quiet grown that builds into a slow outstretched rumble. He exhales.

"This isn't the time to think of your appetite Stiles" he whispers aloud.

He pushes himself up and turns towards the shelving unit. Runs his fingers over each plank of wood; anticipating sharp objects, and yet finding nothing but the toolbox again. He grips hold of it - just as a shift of movement alerts him to the door; and with his heart pounding, the toolbox falls, landing with a painful clanging on both the cement and his feet below.

"Fuck!" he yells, then quickly reigns his voice in and holds his breath.

Stiles feels like throwing up. He lets himself breathe again, listens for a long time. When nothing else happens, the whining of the dog's yawn, brings with it, the realisation that the sound had been the slumping down of it's heavy canine body outside the door. And the panting was now louder than ever.

Stiles, though always fond of dogs, finds that right now, this dog in particular means the world to him. Means he isn't alone in the darkness. Kneeling again, and gripping the steely toolbox close to his chest, he finds himself crawling over and lying down beside the door, as close to the dog as possible. As light slowly brings more and more clarity to the bare walled room, Stiles shivers, hugs the cold metal box tighter, and imagines it is his mother; for after all these years of pretending he still didn't yearn for her lost touch, now is the time he can no longer pretend anymore. And as his eyes become heavy and his breathing calmer, he can no longer hold them open and the toolbox slides from his limp arms.

**I know it's short, but it's just the beginning - Of course, I appreciate any thoughts or feedback, but I realise it's early days and there's not a great deal to discuss yet. Mainly, I hope you enjoyed this opening chapter and stick around for more. Until then...**

**Catch you next time,**

**Harper_Leaps**


	2. Chapter 2 : Patchwork Tablecloths

The bark of a dog wakes Stiles from a restless, chilly sleep, and it is followed by a feminine voice from behind the locked door.

"Shhh... what is it Dougie?" it says.

_Dougie? _Stiles thinks to himself as he stands. When he was a kid he named the family dog Dougie. _How strange._

Dougie is scratching at the door; whining, inbetween the odd bark.

"Okay, okay... I know... please don't tell me she's done this again..." the woman mutters.

_Her voice sounds so familiar._

The lock clicks open and Stiles takes a step back as the door begins to open. His heart is beating fast now and the light temporarily blinds him.

He shields his view, trying to focus on the figure in front of him, and after two, three seconds he cannot believe his eyes. He cannot even speak. Before him stands the round faced, dark haired woman who died over eight years ago from an incurable degenerative disease - his mother; Claudia.

"Stiles?" she says his name quizzically.

Dougie sniffs at Stiles' feet. The big, tatty, friendly dog is the same dog he remembers from his childhood, except now he's older, shaggyer, and fatter.

"What are you doing in here honey? Have you been in here all night?"

Stiles feels his knees buckle and reaches out to the wall to steady himself. A moment later and his mother has an arm around him and is guiding him out into a dimly lit kitchen. He almost jerks away, afraid she's a demon in disguise.

"Mm..mom..." he finally stutters out.

Through blinds, light drapes over a sink of unwashed plates and bowls, an empty fruitbowl atop a table covered by a colourful knitted tablecloth, shelves overstacked with steel pots and pans. A tall gray fridge and a strip of magnets with knives and scissors hanging from them.

"What happened darling?" she asks.

Stiles still cannot believe that his once terminally ill mother has her arm around him and is leading him into a chair.

"I must, I must be dreaming. I'm dreaming..." he stumbles as he sits, disorientated.

"Are you?" she laughs, pushing his dark brown curls out of his face as she pulls her chair to face opposite him. He reaches up and touches the curls...

"...My hair..."

Yesterday he had a buzzcut. His mother runs a hand through the now thick hair.

"Yes, you do have hair... is that a lump? Did someone hit you Honey?"

Stiles looks into her eyes properly for the first time. He stares long and hard, reminding himself how Dad used to comment on her hazel eyes - how often they would switch from from brown to green, how he never could tell what they would be from one day to the next. Lost in the thought, Cludia's expression slowly shifts to deep concern.

"Stiles, tell me what happened."

"You're real."

"What else would I be?"

"Erm.."

"Yes?"

"Dead" he says.

Claudia inhales deeply, places a hand across his forehead.

"Oh Stiles, I'm not going anywhere. I'm very much alive baby--".

"--Of course you are" - a man's voice interrupts them as he enters the kitchen from an open door, "why wouldn't you be?"

Claudia shifts her eyes in his direction. The man smoothes back his short blonde hair as he opens the fridge door. "Is that bacon still in here?" he asks casually.

"Jack, get Charlotte down here now" she states, glancing back at Stiles with a kind smile.

Jack continues to eye the contents of the fridge, "what's she done now?" he asks as he takes out a carton and pours himself a glass of milk. He looks over at Stiles.

"Stiles?" he says, raising eyebrows at him playfully.

Stiles doesn't know what to say - he's never seen Jack before and he doesn't know a _Charlotte_.

He quickly looks away from Jack and focuses back on Claudia. She puts her hands on Stiles' knees and asks...

"Was it your sister Stiles?" she leans in, "You can be honest - did she lock you in there again?"

"...Sister?" he manages.

"She hit you didn't she?" she says.

Jack pushes in with "Claudia - you're putting words in the boys mouth".

Jack doesn't hold back on his cupboard banging and opens the grill with a squeak, slipping a few slices of bread beneath it.

Stiles doesn't take his eyes off his mother. "You're older" he whispers.

"I think we need to take him to the hospital Jack, maybe it's a concussion..." she says, and then she continues directly to Stiles "...you seem somewhere else honey..."

Claudia is taken aback with surprise when Stiles throws his arms around her and squeezes her tightly.

"I missed you so much" he says, "so much.." his voice cracks, "Mom, oh God, I missed you..." his eyes are wet. "I love you...".

"I love you too sweetie...You, you missed me?"

When Stiles begins to shake with sobs and his grip on her becomes tighter than ever she asks with her most serious voice, "What's happened Stiles...please tell us?"

Stiles buries his face in her shoulder, taking in the almost familiar scent of her vanilla perfume. _It smells better than anything ever._ If this is a dream, he'll hold onto her as long as he can. If it's real it makes no sense at all, but every confusion and question in the world isn't going to stop him from taking in this moment completely, utterly and completely - not when he can be with _her_ again.

Claudia glances at Jack, who awkwardly lingers by the countertop. He distracts himself by flipping the bread slices over.

"This isn't right Jack. It's bullying.." she says, "Shhh... it's okay Chickadee".

Her nickname only serves to make him sob harder.

"I...I... missed you calling me that..."

Claudia shoots a frustrated expression at Jack, who walks over to the open door leading out into the hallway.

"Charlotte!" he looks up at a staircase, "Come down right now Charlotte!".

A second later, he disappears from the room and can be heard shouting the name again from the bottom of the staircase.

Stiles's sobbing begin to slow and quell down. Slowly, he relaxes into his mother's arms.

"I don't wanna wake up" he says, his tone fragile, "I dont want you... to be sick again..."

Claudia stiffens, pulls him back in a sudden movement.

"Sick?" she says, "What do you mean Stiles?"

He looks back at her.

"Sick, how?"

He looks down.

"You were dying..."

For a moment she cannot speak, and then... "I wasn't--" she starts, but the groan of a nineteen year old girl interrupts her.

Entering the room, Charlotte is quickly followed by her father, Jack.

"--I didn't hit him" she moans, "I don't know what you're talking about..."

Charlotte looks at Stiles and his red, tear streaked face and quickly looks away again.

"I locked the door, but I didn't hit him. I swear!".

There's a burning smell in the air.

"Charlotte!" Jack raises his voice, "Don't lie to us-- Oh, shiit!"

Jack rushes to the grill and pulls the smoking tray out. "Ow! Fuck." The toast is slightly charred; fumes rising.

"Jack?!" Claudia shouts. "Language."

Charlotte bursts out laughing. She catches eyes with Stiles and he can't help but let a small smile slip himself.

Claudia catches it as she turns back to him - "Ah! A smile. Thank God".

"Stiles, tell them I didn't hit you" Charlotte says.

"I, I dont remember what happened" he mumbles, "I don't know you..." he says looking at Charlotte again, "who are you?"

"Stiles, you dont remember your sister?"

"I don't have a sister."

Jack closes the oven door and is now buttering what's left of his toast.

"That's a bit harsh Stiles".

Claudia exhales deeply and looks at Charlotte.

"Not when she's been bullying him for God knows how long...".

"I haven't!" Charlotte complains.

Stiles is feeling restless from the drama. He touches Claudia's arm.

"Where's Dad, Mom?" he asks.

Jack, taken aback, chimes in, "I'm right here, boy".

"No..." Stiles starts, "I mean, my real Dad".

Claudia is stunned for a moment. Nobody says anything for a whole twenty five seconds and it feels like several minutes.

"Honey, you... you don't remember?"

"Rememer what?" Stiles says, an unsettled heaviness beginning to form in his chest. "Mom, remember what?".

"Stiles, Noah...your biological Dad, don't you remember?" Her tone has shifted to soft and careful. "He died... in Iraq. When you were seven. I don't understand, baby, what's this really about?"

Stiles stares ahead - _What the actual fuck?! __No..._

"You're lying. This isn't even real..."

He suddenly doesn't see the patchwork knitted tablebcloth his mother inherited from his Nanna, or the antique clock on the wall that his Dad bought at a sale when he was six. He doesn't see anything. All is dark. Cause how can he process losing another parent all over again. _How?_

_To be continued..._

**Hey. Review if you're enjoying the story and let me know what you like and what you think could be improved, if you like. :) **


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